In Memoriam
by Coeus
Summary: Deathly Hallow Spoilers!  A collection of unrelated oneshots exploring the various deaths in book 7 from the perspectives of assorted characters.
1. Enough For Both

**SPOILER WARNING!!** This story contains spoilers for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Specifically, references to which characters die and which live on to remember them. I highly recommend not reading this until after you have completely finished the book. I would hate for your experience of the book to be tainted or ruined by my bit of amateur scribbling, especially since I found the last book to be one of the best of the series. **Here there be Spoilers. **Turn back now. Consider yourself warned.

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**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter, his adventures, and all his cohorts are all property of J.K. Rowling. I own nothing. 

**A/N:** This is going to be a series of one-shots, unrelated to one another except for the fact that they all deal with a character's response to one of the deaths from the 7th book. I don't know for sure how many chapters there will be. I have a handful of ideas at the moment, and I hope to get at least 3 or 4 decent stories. If I get struck with inspiration, there may be more.

While I am an avid fan of the books, this is my first attempt at writing a Harry Potter fanfiction. I will try not to make anyone too OOC. If you happen to read something or someone that doesn't seem to fit, then by all means, let me know. I always appreciate feedback and will do my best to correct and improve as I go along. So, with no further ado...

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**Enough For Both**

George Weasley crept quietly down the stairs, his stealth perfected from years of practice. It was very dark, with only the silvery beams of moonlight shining through the windows to illuminate his way. He knew exactly where to walk, though, where to place each foot and which steps to skip entirely to avoid the creaks and groans that were inevitable in a house as old as the Burrow.

After silently descending, he turned towards the sitting room, but stopped before entering. That was the room where the body lay, the place where George and his family had received a multitude of sympathizers and mourners throughout the day. George had made himself be there, forced himself to greet each person, thank them for coming, and always, always crack some small joke._ "With Voldy gone, with no more U-No-Poo, we all knew ol' Fred would be the first to throw a party!"_

Many people had come by. Their friends and teammates, Lee and Oliver, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie, reserved and quiet and somber. All the remaining professors, McGonagall with tears in her eyes, Flitwick with his assurances that the little section of swamp would remain forever. Order Members, Ministry workers, acquaintances, Hogwarts students, and what seemed like hundreds of Weasleys, all coming through the tiny, shabby, crowded sitting room of the Burrow to view the body and pay their respects to the family before the burial the following day. Through it all, the empty words, the pitying glances, the sympathetic touches, George had forced himself to bear up, to offer each new group of people a feeble smile and an even more feeble joke. _"Yes, well, Fred never did forgive me for being born first. I guess this was him getting one up on me."_

Even later, when all the guests had left, when it was just his immediate family gathered together, he didn't let himself slip. He had patted his mother reassuringly as she had sobbed over the body. _"He would have loved to see how you took on Bellatrix, Mum. Downright scary, that was."_ He had stood with his father, with Bill and Fleur, Charlie and Percy, arms all wrapped around one another, as they kept vigil. _"Of course, the way I hear, it was the shock of hearing Percy tell a joke as much as anything that did it."_ He had stood with Ron and Hermione, Ginny and Harry, as they stared down at the body, tears streaming from the girls faces, and even Ron taking the occasional swipe at his eyes. _"Blimey, Harry, don't be stupid, Fred would have killed you himself if he had missed being there."_

George knew, even as each sentence passed his lips, that they were stupid and insensitive and inappropriate. He knew with each startled expression, with every angry glare, with all the pity-filled tear-streaked looks, that no one understood. He was a Weasley twin. Anything less than a joke and a grin, no matter how half-hearted and truly unfelt they were, would have been a disgrace.

Now, though, in the deep of night, with no one else around, George had come down to face the truth, the awful, terrible, bitter truth. He was a twin no more.

He took a deep, steadying breath before finally entering the sitting room and making his way over to Fred's side, standing next to the dark wood coffin in which he lay. Perhaps it was simply the surrounding darkness, or the way a single shaft of bright moonlight landed across Fred's face, but it seemed to George as if there were a tiny smile frozen on his lips.

"Hey there, Fred. I-I guess..." George paused, waiting, half-expecting someone to speak up and finish the sentence for him. There was only silence.

George sighed, feeling a bit stupid, when a tiny voice in the back of his mind spoke. _Cheer up, lad, it's not like you can't finish the sentences yourself._

George looked again at his brother's face. "That's true, I reckon. I mean, it's not like we haven't spent pretty much..."

_...every single minute..._

"...of every single day..."

_...since the day we were born..._

"...hanging around each other."

George ran a hand through his hair, looking around for a moment. After a brief silence, he said, "Uh, look Fred, sorry about all those jokes earlier, when everyone else was around."

_Yeah, you should be sorry, those were just awful. First the holey crack when you lost your ear, then the rubbish you were spewing earlier. I expected better of you._

"Yeah, well, I was under just a little bit of pressure, wasn't I? At least I was able to come up with something."

_True enough. I suppose I can let it slide this time._

"Heart of gold, mate."

_And don't you forget it._

George dropped his head as silence fell once more. This time, when he looked at Fred's body, his eyes shimmered brightly with unshed tears. "I will never forget. And, uh, I know I've never said this before, but..."

_I know, George, you don't have to say it. _

"I love you. I shoulda said it a long time ago. I don't know why I didn't. But I love you, Fred."

_I said I already knew, didn't I? I've always known, just like you've always known that I love you. _

Tears began to leak from George's eyes. "It hurts. It hurts worse than anything, even losing my ear. This is like losing half of myself, the only half that was ever any good. I don't know what to do anymore."

_You're being a bit dramatic, don't you think? And what do you mean the only half that was any good?_

"You know what I mean. It's always been you, hasn't it? All the stuff we've done, it's always been your idea and your nerve that got us through. All the pranks we pulled, nicking that map from Filch, selling our joke stuff, leaving school early, actually starting up a shop, all of that was you. I was just following along."

_Being a bit revisionist with your history there, mate. You were as much a part of all of that as I was, sometimes even more. I mean, yeah, a lot of the ideas were mine, but you were the one who worked out how to actually do everything. Most of what we sell in the shop is stuff you did the enchantments for. And what about that time-delay charm you worked out a few weeks ago? That'll work on pretty much everything we sell. It was a brilliant piece of magic._

'Yeah, but..."

_No buts about it, you are definitely the brains of our duo. I'm just the charm and dashing good looks. _

"Maybe. But I...I'm still going to miss having you around, though."

_Well of course you are. Who wouldn't? But it's not like we won't see each other again, is it?_

George blinked and wiped away his tears. "It's not?"

_Course not. We'll see each other again. This is just like having separate detentions. It's dead awful now, but we'll be back together in a bit._

He felt his heart grow lighter. He would see Fred again. Not tomorrow, or the next day, but someday he would be reunited with his twin.

_It better be a good long bit, though, understand? I don't want to be seeing you anytime soon._

He smiled slightly. "Yeah, I think I can agree with you on that one. So long as we get together again eventually, I reckon I can wait a while."

_Excellent! And, in the meantime..._

George cocked his head curiously. "Yeah?"

_In the meantime, I guess you'll just have to be Weasley twin enough for the both of us, eh?_

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I can do that."

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After the burial of Fred Weasley, all the mourners made their way back to the Burrow for the wake. They all gathered in the garden, where tables of food were set up. They stood clustered in little groups of well dressed people, all somberly sipping their drinks and nibbling at their snacks. No one spoke above a whisper, when they bothered to speak at all. Some were still sobbing quietly.

That's when it happened.

It started, oddly enough, with Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the Savior of the wizarding world. One moment he had been standing with his arm around Ginny, and the next he had, quite suddenly, turned into a ferret. Not just any ferret, though. It was a pure white ferret that had the odd habit of bouncing up and down like a rubber ball. There were shouts of surprise, and many reached for their wands, thinking it was some attack by whatever Death Eaters remained. Imagine their surprise when their wands began turning into rubber chickens and boxer shorts and flobberworms.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, acting Minister of Magic, stepped forward and raised his voice, saying, "Everyone into the..." He never finished his sentence, though, as he quite rudely interrupted himself by fainting on the spot. Arthur, Charlie, and Percy Weasley rushed over to help, but just as they reached him, Arthur projectile vomited several times, all of which drenched Percy. Charlie managed to avoid the vomit, but only because at that exact moment he transformed into a bright yellow canary.

Professor McGonagall, meanwhile, made her way over to the bouncing ferret, intending to transfigure him back into a proper Gryffindor. She raised her wand (which, luckily, was really her wand) but stopped before actually casting a spell. A strange look appeared on her face, a dreamy, unfocused look that appeared entirely out of place on the stern teacher. She lowered her wand arm, turned towards Ron, and, in a strange floaty voice, said, "Why, Ronald, you are looking quite handsome today."

All jaws in the vicinity immediately dropped as everyone, Ron included, turned to look at the current Headmistress of Hogwarts. Their shock only increased when they saw that she was blushing and giggling.

Professor Sprout stepped warily towards McGonagall. "Minerva, are you feeling quite alright? It's just..." But then she trailed off, her face taking on the same dreamy expression, her voice the same floaty sound, as she looked at Ron. "It's just that Ron here has always preferred Herbology to Transfiguration. Isn't that right, Ron?" And she fluttered her eyelashes at him.

Ron jumped, wishing that his two teachers had turned into giant spiders rather than whatever had actually happened to them. He looked around for some bit of assistance, but there was none to be had. Where Ginny had been standing, there was another bouncing white ferret. Hermione was vomiting noisily. Seamus Finnigan was lying on the ground, apparently unconscious. Sitting on his chest was a canary that moments before had been Dean Thomas. Neville was frantically trying to stem the thick flow of blood from his nose. Luna stood watching everything with her own dreamy look, but Ron couldn't decide if she was being affected by the same thing as the teachers, or if that was the way she always looked. Over her shoulder, he saw Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell making their way towards him, both with the the wide eyed, adoring look he was quickly beginning to fear. He slowly began to back away, but only made it a couple of steps before running into something large and solid.

"Ain't leavin' so soon, are ya Ron?"

Terrified to his very core, Ron slowly turned. There stood Hagrid, looking at Ron as though he had just sprouted fangs and horns and a giant stinging tail. Of course, with Hagrid, that meant he was giving Ron the same dreamy stare as the rest. And then Hagrid gave a slow, significant wink.

Ron ran screaming, pursued by the quickly growing horde of his admirers. Luna, who had apparently not been affected, watching him go and said to no one in particular, "Ron has certainly become popular."

A loud BANG momentarily focused everyones attention to the sky, where blindingly bright, golden fireworks streaked through the air. It looked random at first, but after a moment the fireworks formed huge fiery letters. Everyone in the garden finally understood what was happening when they read the message in the sky. It said:

_In Loving Memory_

They all looked around at each other, at the people beginning to recover from the vomiting and fainting and bleeding, at all the rubbish the wands had turned into, at the assortment of singing canaries and bouncing ferrets that were popping back into people, at the now large group of people chasing Ron around, at the complete and total chaos that had reigned in the garden.

And everyone finally started to laugh.

Watching from an upstairs window, George Weasley smiled through his tears.

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**A/N:** My own little take on how George reacts to Fred's death, a topic that, understandably, seems to be generating quite a few fics. I was trying to avoid being too angsty with it, I just hope I didn't go too far the other way, and that you were able to enjoy reading it.

As I said before, this is my first foray into the Potterverse, so my apologies if anyone was too terribly out of character. And, to be honest, I don't really know which twin was born first, so let me know if I got that wrong and I will change it.

I haven't yet decided who will be the subject of the next one-shot, though I do have a couple of ideas in mind. I will start working on it and try to get it posted as soon as possible.

Anyways, thank you to everyone who reads the story, especially to those of you who take the time to review. I always appreciate feedback of any kind and will reply to all signed reviews. I can't wait to hear what you guys think.

Thanks again!

Coeus


	2. Thousands of Words

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter, his adventures, and his cohorts are all property of J.K. Rowling. I own nothing.

**Thousands of Words**

Neville Longbottom sat in the Great Hall, staring at the tabletop in silent wonder. It was over. Harry had killed Voldemort. Voldemort and the Death Eaters would no longer terrorize the world.

The events of the last year flooded into Neville's mind. The attack on the school that resulted in Dumbledore's death. The funeral. The fall of the Ministry. Snape taking over Hogwarts. The Carrows making life miserable. The beatings, the torture, the punishments. The worry over Gran. The last few weeks of hiding out in the Room of Requirement. It was all over now. The war was over. It was almost too much to believe.

It came at a steep price, though. Neville swung his legs from the bench and stood, moving away from the crowds at the tables and making his way over to the more somber section of the Great Hall, the portion where the bodies of the fallen had been laid. There were fewer than there could have been, really, but still far too many.

He walked down the line of bodies, most surrounded by friends or family, keeping his distance so as not too intrude upon the grief of others. Neville didn't recognize most of the dead, probably members of the Order of the Phoenix, but he did see a few sadly familiar faces.

Fred Weasley. Neville could barely wrap his mind around it. One of the unconquerable Weasley twins, dead forever. Around Fred's body was gathered the rest of the Weasley family and friends, all in shocked silence and tears. Neville continued on.

Professor Lupin. Well, he hadn't been a professor for a while now, but that was how Neville would always think of him. He had been the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher they had ever had. He was also the first professor to ever believe in him, to ever show any faith in his abilities. Neville couldn't even begin to imagine how Professor Lupin had died when he had survived. It wasn't fair.

Next to Lupin was a young witch that Neville only knew as one of the Aurors that had been stationed around the school the previous year. He realized it must be the woman that the professor had married. Someone had joined her hand with Lupin's. They were surround by a group of adults, a mixture of professors and Order members staring down at the couple. Neville kept walking.

He passed more bodies, more people he didn't recognize. At the end of the line, though, the last person laid out was another familiar face. There were no mourners surrounding him at the moment. Neville stopped there, at the body of the youngest casualty of the Battle of Hogwarts.

Colin Creevey lay in silent repose, somehow looking very small. His eyes were closed. He was covered in dirt and sweat, just as they all were, but there was no sign of injury. If Neville didn't know any better, he might have thought that Colin was just sleeping.

But he did know better, had even helped carry the limp form into the Great Hall. He knew that the Avada Kedavra left no marks, no trace of injury. It didn't matter that the person being struck down was barely 16 years old with his whole life ahead of him. None of that made him any less dead. Neville wasn't surprised that Colin had sneaked back in, underage or not. Colin had spent most of the previous summer looking for a magical relative to confirm his Blood Status so he and his brother could continue at Hogwarts (finding a distant great uncle who was a wizard), and with similar determination he had refused to be hustled off to safety when the school and the friends he loved were under attack. It was easy to see why he had been sorted into Gryffindor.

Neville's thought were interrupted by a quiet sniff next to him. He turned and saw that he had been joined by Ernie, Seamus, and Lavender. All were staring down at the boy's body.

Neville didn't know how long they stood together in silence, but finally Ernie spoke, his whisper sounding strangely loud. "W-we should... we should do something, shouldn't we? He was a member of the D.A. We owe him something."

Seamus and Lavender both nodded their heads, and all three looked up at Neville expectantly. This was the position he had been put in all year, and one with which he was still not comfortable. Leadership was not in Neville Longbottom's nature. And besides, Colin's parents would have a service for him...

Neville's thoughts were derailed by a sudden realization. A distant uncle whom he had never met notwithstanding, Colin Creevey was muggle-born. Neville didn't generally think in terms of muggle-born, half-blood, and pure-blood, but in this instance it seemed significant. Colin's body would be sent to his muggle parents, who would have a muggle funeral attended by all of Colin's other muggle relatives. There wouldn't be – couldn't be – any mention of how or why he died. No one at the service, with the possible exceptions of Colin's parents and his brother, would have any idea of the battle he had fought, of the sacrifice he had made.

Neville nodded once. "Yeah, I reckon you're right. You three go round up all the members and tell them to meet in the Room of Requirement in half an hour. Dumbledore's Army is having one last meeting."

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Neville staggered down the 7th floor corridor, struggling to carry several cases of butterbeer. He had made a side trip to the kitchens before coming up here. The House Elves, though still tending to their own wounded, were more than happy to supply him with drinks.

He stopped outside the stretch of blank wall where he knew the door would appear and thought hard. _We need a place to remember Colin Creevey. We need a place to remember Colin Creevey. We need a place to remember Colin Creevey._

Neville backed through the rough wooden door that appeared and set the cases of butterbeer on a low table next to the entrance. When he turned to face the rest of the room, his jaw dropped. He was, even after having used it all year, still shocked by the abilities of the Room of Requirement.

It looked a bit like the Gryffindor common room, with a fire burning along one wall and gold and red banners hanging from the ceiling. There were a few small chairs and tables scattered around, and there would be more than enough space for everyone that might come. None of that is what caught Neville's eye.

Every inch of every wall, from floor to ceiling, was covered in photographs. The room was practically wallpapered with them. There were a few muggle pictures staring out, perfectly still, but most of them were wizard photographs. The resulting barrage of movement was almost nausea-inducing.

Quidditch matches. Giant pumpkins. Feasts in the Great Hall. People studying in the library. The Shrieking Shack. Students charming matchsticks and teacups and tortoises. The Goblet of Fire. Trolleys being pushed along platform 9 ¾. Owls swooping down to deliver the morning post. A small boy sitting on a stool with the sorting hat on his head. Christmas trees alight with fairies. Hagrid caressing a Blast Ended Skrewt. The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade.

Neville walked slowly around the room, his eyes almost crossing with the effort of focusing on each picture individually, looking at life at Hogwarts through the eyes and lens of Colin Creevey and his ubiquitous camera.

Students grubbing in the dirt in the greenhouses. People laughing and talking in the common room. McGonagall passing back essays. Chocolate-smeared faces in Honeydukes. Triwizard tournament events. First years playing gobstones. The Hogwarts Express. Filch and Mrs. Norris stalking students. Peeves dropping dungbombs.

Some of the photos were more recent. Neville couldn't begin to imagine how – or even why – Colin had managed to take these pictures during this last terrible year at Hogwarts.

Snape sitting in the Headmaster's chair. Alecto Carrow watching Crabbe cast the Cruciatus on a young Ravenclaw girl. Madame Pomfrey tending to Michael Corner. Hannah Abbot paraded in front of the school in chains. The Patil twins holding one another, sobbing into each other's shoulders. He even saw a picture of himself, wiping blood from his face.

Neville stopped to take a closer look at one of the pictures. It was a group photo of the original D.A., from his 5th year. Only two years ago, but they all looked so much younger, and not only physically. There was a carefree happiness on all the faces, even his own, that he hadn't seen in a very long time. Back then the D.A. was just about practicing defense and hoping to pass exams and getting one over on Umbridge. It had grown to mean so much more.

A sound from behind caused Neville to look around. He hadn't noticed other people coming into the room, but there were quite a few now, walking around and looking at the pictures.

Seamus, Terry, and Ernie were laughing quietly at a picture of Seamus with his eyebrows burned off. Anthony and the Patil twins were watching D.A. members stun and disarm each other. Ron and Ginny stood with their arms around each other, tears in their eyes, in front of a picture of the Weasley twins and their legendary exit from Hogwarts. Luna, Dean, Hannah, and Hermione watched a photo of Dumbledore addressing the students. Harry stood alone with a quill in his hand, staring at a much younger version of himself lying on the ground with a useless rubbery tube where his arm should have been. Neville couldn't help but smile when Harry gave a deep sigh and signed the picture.

Neville continued to watch the crowd of people as they walked around the room and reminisced over the photos. When it became obvious that there would be no one else joining them, he made his way over to the table on which he had left the butterbeer. On the wall above the table was the largest photograph in the room. It was a poster sized picture of Colin, with his arm around Dennis, both grinning widely and waving at the camera. Neville stood looking at it for a moment. He didn't know who had taken it for them, but was glad that someone did. It was perhaps the only picture in the room that actually had Colin in it.

After wiping his eyes with a sleeve, Neville started handing around the bottles of butterbeer. People noticed the activity and moved towards the table and the one large photo of Colin. Once the butterbeers had been passed out, Neville took one for himself and nervously raised a hand to quiet the crowd. Silence fell and all eyes in the room turned towards him. He cleared his throat once and began speaking.

"Uh, hello everyone. I-I thought we should have one last meeting, I hope no one minds. I know we've all been through a lot. We, um, we l-lost some people tonight, some really good people. One of them was a member of the D.A. I think from the room you all know that I'm talking about Colin Creevey. He shouldn't have even been fighting, really, he was underage, but I don't think any of us are too surprised by it, are we? If we learned just one thing about Colin this year, it was that he was pretty persistent when he wanted to be." There were a few chuckles around the room as Neville continued. "Uh, to be honest, I'm really not very good at speeches and such, but..."

He trailed off, at a loss how to continue. His eyes darted around for inspiration and landed on the large photo of Colin, who gave him a quick wink. Neville looked at the picture, at all the pictures, and took a deep breath.

"They say a picture is worth a thousand words. If you look around the room, I think you'll agree that Colin had far more to say about himself, about the D.A., about Hogwarts, and about what it really means to be a wizard than any of us ever could. He would want us to remember the good times, and there have been loads of them, but he would want us to remember the rough times as well, so we never forget why we fought this war or the people who fought it with us." Neville raised his bottle of butterbeer. "Dumbledore's Army! Raise your glasses to Colin Creevey, a good friend, a hero, and the most eloquent Gryffindor of all."

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**A/N:** I wanted to write something from Neville's perspective, just because I thought he turned out so very cool in the last book, and decided on Colin Creevey. This was a lot harder to write than the first story, owing mostly to the fact that we are given so much less information about Colin than about Fred. To be honest, I don't like this one nearly as well. Still, I haven't seen much written about Colin, so thought I would go ahead and post it. Hopefully the next one will be better.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and to whoever takes the time to review this one. I always appreciate getting feedback.

Coeus


	3. Bedtime Stories

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter, his adventures, and his cohorts are all property of J.K. Rowling. I own nothing.

**Bedtime Stories**

Harry silently eased the door shut behind himself. He had put this moment off as long as he could, assuaging his guilty conscience with excuses of needing rest or helping to rebuild or memorials to attend. It had been almost two weeks since the battle of Hogwarts. Two weeks of a world without Voldemort. Two weeks since so many had died.

He was long overdue. He knew he should have come sooner. Regardless of how awkward or uncomfortable or unsure of himself it made him feel, he knew this was something that he had to do, that he wanted to do, that he should have done before now. He owed it to them.

With a deep sigh, he stepped away from the door and looked around the small room. Harry wasn't sure exactly what he had been expecting, especially as he had never set foot in a nursery before, but he was oddly relieved to see that the room appeared to be relatively harmless.

The walls were painted a light, pastel blue, and, in true wizarding fashion, had small shapes and designs dancing across them. There were a few stuffed toys scattered around the room; a bear, a dog, a dragon. Along one side wall was a padded table stacked high with diapers and powders and a dozen other things for which Harry knew no names. And against the far wall, with a brightly colored mobile hanging above it, was the crib.

He walked as quietly as he could. Mrs. Tonks said the baby was sleeping, and Harry thought it best if it remained that way. Despite all the rubbish being printed about him being the greatest wizard of the modern age (that title rightly belonged to Albus Dumbledore), Harry was strangely unnerved at the idea of dealing with an infant.

In order to delay the moment for a bit longer, he instead focused on the mobile hanging above the crib as he approached. Four miniature quidditch players chased each other slowly around in circles on their broomsticks. Harry was a bit surprised to see that they were all wearing the red and gold of Gryffindor. Professor Lupin had, of course, been in Gryffindor, but he knew that Tonks had spent her school years in Hufflepuff. He would have thought there would be at least a couple of them in Hufflepuff yellow and black. It wasn't until he was much closer, standing right next to the crib in fact, that he could make out the details and realized that each of the broomsticks actually carried the same figure, and that the person had messy black hair, round glasses, and the smallest squiggle of a line on it's forehead.

He stared for a moment longer before shaking his head in exasperation. Harry Potter memorabilia. This was surely Remus's doing. Harry could just imagine the look on his ex-professor's face when he picked out that particular bit of decoration. Of course, now that he thought about it, Tonks probably got a laugh out of it as well.

"Your mum and dad were a right pair of-" Harry cut off abruptly when he looked down into the crib and met the bright eyes of Teddy Remus Lupin.

Harry froze, unable to do anything but watch this creature in front of him. The baby was laying on his back, round and pink, with his fat little arms and legs waving in the air. He was wearing impossibly small blue one-piece pajamas covered in golden snitches. His tiny tuft of hair was bright green at the moment, and his eyes were looking at Harry.

Harry rested his hands on the edge of the crib. "Uh, hi there. I-I wasn't really expecting you to be awake. Mrs. Tonks – that's your gran – she said you would be sleeping."

Teddy's eyes floated randomly around the room, occasionally flicking back to Harry for a moment before moving on. Harry didn't think that the baby seemed particularly interested in him. "I, um, I don't guess we've been properly introduced yet, have we? I'm Harry. I'm your g-godfather."

Harry watched closely for a reaction. He felt a bit disappointed when there was none, and then felt a bit silly for expecting one. Teddy was just a baby. He didn't have a clue what Harry was saying.

"Yeah. Um, I would have been by sooner, but..." Harry ran through the list of excuses in his mind, but now that he was actually here, they all seemed rather stupid. Certainly too stupid to actually voice aloud. Besides, he wanted to do this right, and starting things off with a lame excuse didn't seem the best way to go about it. Instead, he decided to take the approach he had been avoiding for two weeks now. Direct and honest.

"Well, I don't reckon I really have a good reason. I should have come before now. It's just..." He hesitated, working out the truth in his own head before continuing. "It's just... I don't know... I guess being here and seeing you, actually meeting you, without Remus and Tonks here, it makes it all seem so... real."

Harry stopped, carefully digesting what he had just said. It was true. They were gone. Remus Lupin, his teacher, the last link to his father. Tonks, his protector and watcher. His two friends were gone forever, and somehow this visit brought that crashing down on him more clearly than even their memorial service had. The service seemed like a play he had been to, something he had seen and could remember, but something in which he had not actually participated. Now, standing here, looking down on their son without them around to dote and fuss, the realization struck him with all the suddenness and savagery of a bolt of lightening.

Remus and Tonks were dead.

Remus would never teach him anything again. He would never answer questions about Harry's mum and dad, or about Sirius. He would never be there to offer advice or guidance or protection.

Tonks would never again entertain them with different noses. She would never change her hair color, or stumble clumsily around, or greet him with a chipper, "Wotcher, Harry."

Harry's chest was gripped with a strange tightness and his eyes prickled and burned. Glancing around through his blurred vision, he found a wooden chair and fell into it, silently staring at nothing while his mind worked.

It was several minutes later that a gurgling noise reminded him that he was not alone. Looking towards the crib, he saw Teddy still squirming around, blowing spit bubbles through the drool dribbling down his chin, his hair bright blue. Harry stood and moved back towards the crib, grabbing a nearby towel and gingerly reaching in to daub at the baby's messy mouth. "Sorry about that. It kind of hit me all of a sudden."

Harry laid the towel to the side. "Your mum and dad, they were... they were just amazing, really. Two of the best people I've ever known. I'm... I'm really going to miss having them around. You will too, when you get a bit older. Trust me on that one, I know what it's like. My mum and dad died when I was a baby, too. They were fighting against Voldemort, just like your parents were."

His voice hitched, and he had to take a moment to collect himself. He pulled the wooden chair over to the crib and sat down again, resting his chin on the side of the crib and peering down at Teddy. "You remind me of them, you know. You have your dad's chin, and your mum's nose. Her normal one, I mean. And you definitely have her hair." The baby's hair had changed color again, the same bright pink that Tonks had favored.

"We're both orphans, you and me. You're going to be loads better off than I was, though. I got stuck with the Dursleys, and never heard anything but lies about my parents for ten years. You've got your gran to look after you and to tell you all about your mum and dad."

Harry paused, turning a bit pink in the face. "I... well, I reckon you've got me, too. It's sort of the whole point of godparents, isn't it? I know I'm off to a bit of late start, but this is new to me. I'm not use to having someone to look after. I don't even know why they picked me, really." Harry hesitantly reached into the crib. His finger hovered above the baby's arm for a moment before finally settling on it. He was surprised by how smooth Teddy's skin was. He stroked the baby's arm with his knuckles, clearing his throat before continuing. "I promise you, though, I will do everything I can from here on out to give you the life I dreamed of all those years in the cupboard. And I promise you will know everything about Remus and Nymphadora Lupin, your dad and mum."

Harry blinked to clear his vision, staring at the tiny life in the crib. He would do it, too. He would do whatever it took to give Teddy a good life, a life that Remus and Tonks would be proud of. It would be his last gift to them, the one chance he would ever have to pay them back for their friendship and love.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of pressure on his finger. Looking down, he saw that Teddy had grasped it firmly in his tiny fist. He couldn't help but smile. "Some grip you've got there, mate. Must have gotten that from your dad. He was a werewolf. People may give you a hard time about that sometimes, but you can just ignore them. Werewolves can be good or bad, just like people, and your dad was the best. He taught me the patronus charm when I was just a third year. When you get your wand, I will teach it to you, if you want. That way it's kind of like your dad is teaching you by proxy, isn't it? Anyways, there were dementors stationed around Hogwarts that year, looking for Sirius. Sirius Black, that is, he was my godfather. Sort of makes him your great-godfather, I guess. So, there were dementors swarming around everywhere, trying to find him, and any time any of them got close, I would pass out. So I asked your dad if he could teach me to..."

He was so lost in his story that he never even saw Teddy's mouth crack open in a tiny yawn, or his eyes close as he settled in for his nap. And, as he would for years to come, little Teddy Remus Lupin fell asleep to stories about werewolves and metamorphmagi...

* * *

**A/N:** Not the most original idea, I know, but it just seems like an encounter that would have to happen at some point. The next chapter should be a bit more creative. I've already started on it, and will try to update as soon as possible. 

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. I always appreciate the feedback.

Coeus


	4. Their Own

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter, his adventures, and his cohorts are all property of J.K. Rowling. I own nothing.

**Their Own**

Bill Weasley's mouth cracked open in a huge yawn as he descended the stairs of Shell Cottage, still trying to tie his dressing gown as he walked. It was barely dawn, but he had always been an early riser. He entered the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee.

Soon, he was leaning against the counter, hands wrapped around a steaming mug, deeply inhaling the rich, earthy, enchanted scent of fresh brewed coffee. As he took his first sip, he glanced out the window over the sink. The countryside was blanketed in deep, silvery fog shot through with rays of early morning sunlight. The fog was not uncommon, living this close to the sea, and gave the morning a stillness and quiet that Bill appreciated. He gazed out at the eerie, blank whiteness, eyes glazed and unfocused, as his mind freely wandered.

He was jolted from his calm meditation by a flash of movement, barely seen through the thick fog. He sat his cup down and watched more attentively, whole body taut, straining his eyes to see through the mist, hoping he had only imagined it.

There. The tiny flicker of a shadow moving through the vapors. Bill sighed deeply and pulled his wand from his pocket. The war had been over for almost a month. All known Death Eaters were either captured or presumed to have fled the country. Life had been returning to normal for the wizarding world, enough so that Bill had even removed most of the defenses around the house. But with a shadow lurking in the early morning fog, he had to be prepared for the worst.

He thought briefly of waking up Fleur, but decided against it. She would only want to come with him, and it might just be a stray dog. Besides, he wasn't a Gringotts cursebreaker for nothing...

Wrapping his dressing gown more tightly around himself, he left the house, easing the door open and closed as quietly as he could, knowing that the low, constant sound of the surf would help hide the noise. He didn't want to give whoever was out there any warning, even if sound was stifled in the dense mist. He crept slowly into the garden, keeping his body low to the ground. He could barely see ten feet in front of himself, but headed in the direction that he had seen the shadow.

He stopped abruptly when he heard a muffled noise. He cocked his head in the direction he thought it was coming from, trying to place the familiar, high-pitched sound. It sounded almost like... crying? The sobs of a small child?

He walked quickly towards the sound, his curiosity overcoming his caution. It was coming from the direction of the small grave that was nestled between two bushes at the end of the garden. As he neared the location, a tiny figure finally began to emerge from the mist.

It was not a child, but a house-elf, with big, round eyes and large, batlike ears. Bill was more than a little surprised to see the elf wearing a fancy doll's dress, smudged with dirt. Other than Dobby, he had never seen a house-elf dressed in clothes. She was crying hard, hands covering her face, kneeling next to the stone marker of the grave.

Bill tucked his wand away. This poor creature was no danger. He stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to do. He had just decided to turn around and leave the elf to her grief, when she happened to look up from her sobbing and see him. Her squeaky cries were immediately cut off in a strangled gasp.

"I is s-sorry, s-sir. I is n-not m-meaning to intrude." She wiped at her eyes and tried to steady her gasping breath as she struggled to her feet.

"It's alright," Bill said with a sigh, taking a few steps closer. "And it looks like I'm the one intruding, not you."

She shook her head slowly, wringing her hands nervously. Tears still leaked from her eyes as she replied, "Oh, n-no s-sir. This is b-being your land, a-and Winky did not ask permission to come."

He waived that objection away. "Well, Winky, you're obviously a friend of Dobby's, and his friends are welcome here. My name is Bill, by the way."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Bill Weasley, sir, I is knowing that. And you is right, sir, Dobby was being my very good friend."

"Then stay as long as you like. My wife and I will be over in the house if you need anything, alright?"

Winky's round eyes widened even more at the unexpected offer, and she could only nod. Bill was just about to walk away when she found her voice again. "M-Mr. Bill Weasley, sir?"

"Yes, Winky?"

"Sir, I is just wondering, sir..."

"Yes?"

She made eye contact for only a moment before glancing away self-consciously. "Sir, who is writing such... such **terrible **things about Dobby?"

Bill blinked, confused. He looked down at the stone marker to check that the message hadn't been changed, but it was the still the same. "What terrible things, Winky?"

"Who is telling everyone that Dobby was," she paused, eyes darting around as though looking for eavesdroppers, and then continued in a barely audible whisper, "a **free elf**?"

He smiled at the appalled look on the little elf's face. He knelt down on the other side of the grave from her, to put himself at eye level. "Winky, is freedom really such a terrible thing?"

She nodded her head vigorously. "Oh, yes sir, yes sir. House-elves is not supposed to be free. We is supposed to have a family to serve and take care of. Being set free is a shameful thing, sir."

Bill thought carefully before responding. He never knew Dobby, not really. Just stories he had heard from Ron and Harry. Still, though, Dobby had sacrificed himself to save seven people, one of them Harry Potter. He was a hero, and he deserved to be remembered as such, especially by his own kind. Harry, for one, would want nothing less, and neither did Bill.

"Do you know who Harry Potter is, Winky?"

"Of course, Mr. Bill Weasley, sir, Harry Potter is a great wizard! He is saving the world from..." her voice fell to a whisper again, "from He-Who-Is-Not-Named. He is a great, good wizard, sir. Winky was meeting him once, sir, and he was friends with Dobby."

"What if I told you that Harry Potter wrote Dobby's headstone?"

"Harry Potter, sir? B-but I... I is thinking that Harry Potter liked Dobby, sir!"

"Winky, what do you know about how Dobby died?"

"Not much, sir." Tears welled up in her eyes again as she continued. "I only knows that he should have stayed at Hogwarts. I tries to tell him that, sir, the day he left, but he says he has to be going. Too much freedom, sir. If he was being a proper house-elf, he could not be going off to do dangerous things. He would be staying in his place and still be alive, sir, if he was not having ideas above his station."

"Ideas above his station?" Bill tried hard to keep his voice level and calm, to keep the anger from seeping through. It wasn't her fault, not really. It was all that she knew. "Winky, do you have any idea how lucky we all are –you, me, the whole world- that Dobby had ideas above his station?"

She shook her head slowly, obviously confused.

"You see, Winky, when Dobby left Hogwarts that day, it was to help in the war. There were seven people, six humans and a goblin, captured by Death Eaters. They were going to be handed over to Voldemort."

Winky visibly flinched at the name.

"They were going to be killed. They were already being tortured. One of those people was my brother, Ron, so I will always be in Dobby's debt for that. But one of the other people was Harry Potter. Harry had been captured and was going to be killed, but Dobby showed up and saved him, saved them all. Winky, if Dobby hadn't been a free elf, if he hadn't had ideas above his station, then no one would have been able to get to Harry in time to save him. Voldemort would have killed him, and without Harry around, Voldemort would have won the war. No one else could have stopped him"

"At some point during the escape, Dobby was stabbed in the chest with a knife. He was still able to get Harry out, brought him here in fact, but he died shortly after. There was nothing anyone could do. I was there, Winky. Harry was beside himself. And do you know what happened then? Harry Potter, the great, good wizard who would later kill Voldemort and save us all, Harry Potter dug Dobby's grave himself. He didn't use magic, either. He used a spade. And when it was deep enough, he laid him in the grave, as gently as a newborn baby. Afterwards, once he was buried, Harry took that stone and placed it on the grave, and wrote the engraving himself. It was the nicest thing he could think to say, the one thing that summed up Dobby completely, the best memorial he could give him. Dobby lived and died a free elf. He is a hero, Winky, every bit as much as any wizard. More, even. Without him, we would have lost."

He finished speaking, and silence descended on the pair. He waited for her to say something, but she appeared to be deep in thought. Bill decided to leave her to her mourning. He stood and turned towards the house. Before he could take a step though, he was stopped by the House Elf's voice.

"Sir, I is also a..." she hesitated, and Bill thought he even detected a hint of a blush, "... a _free elf_, sir, and I is getting one day off a month. Can I... can I be coming here and tending to Dobby's grave, sir?"

He couldn't help but smile. "Of course, Winky. You're welcome here any time."

"Thank you, sir."

Bill began walking back to the house again, but Winky still had one more question.

"C-can I be bringing Kreacher, too? He is wanting to see."

"That's fine, Winky. You can bring anyone who wants to come."

"Thank you, sir. Thank you."

Finally, Bill was able to walk back to his house, where he was greeted at the door by his very worried wife. He took Fleur by the hand and led her back into the kitchen, where they made breakfast together. As they cooked and ate, he told her all about his morning, and of the possibility of future visitors.

* * *

Every month, without fail, a tiny figure would spend a day at the little grave in the garden on the seaside cliff, tidying up and leaving flowers. It was, perhaps, the most well tended spot of ground in the whole country. 

Bill and Fleur got used to the visits, barely noticing them after a while. One morning, though, Bill nudged his wife with an elbow and pointed out the window towards the site. She looked out and saw not one tiny figure, but two. Fleur and Bill shared a smile over their coffee.

A couple of months later, there were three figures in the early morning fog, and five the month after that. Soon enough, on one day of every month, small crowds of House Elves arrived at Shell Cottage; to see the grave and marker made by Harry Potter himself, to hear the story of the war's smallest casualty, and to pay respects to their fallen brother, a hero of their own.

* * *

**A/N:** Yeah, I know, Dobby already had his memorial in the book, but I just couldn't help but wonder how the other House Elves would react to his death. He was always shown as a bit of an oddity among them, always an outsider. I also was a bit disappointed that Winky didn't even get a passing mention in the last book, when Dobby and Kreacher both played such large roles. 

And, yeah, house-elf dialect is hard to write. I tried to handle it as best I could. Let me know if it's too terrible, and I will try to tweak it a bit more.

I hope you liked it. I don't have a clue who or what I will do for the next one, so I have no idea as to when I will update again.

Thanks for reading!

Coeus


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